


Champion's Coffer Verse Shorts

by FeoplePeel



Series: Champion's Coffer [6]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/M, Kidfic, Minor Character Death, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 12:58:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9441314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeoplePeel/pseuds/FeoplePeel
Summary: A series of shorts about the Hawke-Tethras clan and the trio (Islen, Emery, and Kieran) moved over from Tumblr. Enjoy <3





	1. Subtle Kindness and Broken Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by kindervenom (Emery's creator)! Emery (17), Islen (18), and Kieran (22). Takes place right after Islen’s tutelage and leading into Kieran’s move to Kirkwall. ALSO PSST! Two of the quotes in italics are actually written by kindervenom from a beautiful minfic she sent me last year of our trio <3 Enjoy, Wren :D

Aunt Derry pulled away, her face red and dry where tears had tracked. It was odd to see such a fearsome woman cracked down the middle.

A loud series of barks sounded through the door and far away. “That’ll be more guests.” She wiped at her face and straightened her armour. He wondered if all soldiers would polish their gear to such a sheen for the funeral of an apostate.

“You two take your time,” Alistair said, hands pressed tight against his wife’s shoulders and armour more shiny if only for its size. “We’ll go greet them.”

Kieran nodded gratefully and Emery moved from the corner of the room to share his small couch, pressing herself in tightly to his side.

Alistair hesitated before speaking again. “Kieran, you know Morrigan and I weren’t very close. But your mother was a very…she was a big part of our lives.” He moved one of his hands to Kieran’s shoulder. He understood why Derry would feel relaxed under such a comforting palm.

“You’re still family, Kieran. Remember that.” Derry gave him a significant look before leading her husband outside, leaving him alone with his sister.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Emery placed a hand over his. “We can just sit here a while.”

Kieran threaded their fingers together and felt the corners of his lips lift. He remembered meeting her for the first time. Emery Theirin, the Mouse. Slowly building herself up in the shadow of two great legends and next to the boisterous Islen (already demanding the room’s attention whether they liked it or not). It didn’t seem an easy task.

_“Mama’s always gone…I’m afraid I’ll forget her face. Or maybe she won’t remember mine.”_

_“That…that was amazing! Can we do it again?”_

_“Adventures aren’t as much fun when you’re alone.”_  
  
Still the next time he had seen her, at the encampment, he knew those shadows had merely been the soil she’d allowed herself to grow within. Emery wasn’t a politician or a Lady of the Court, but she had learned people in a way that he had seen in few others. Or maybe it was a singular way she had with him. Regardless, he appreciated it now.

He didn’t know how long they sat there, but their companionable silence was broken by a burst of red and gold, shooting through the sitting room door and nearly onto Kieran’s lap. In retrospect, and given where his thoughts had taken him, it seemed inevitable.

He heard Emery snort beside him. "Hello, Islen.”

“Hello, Emmy.” Islen turned her head, the mass of black curls piled atop her head brushing against Kieran’s lips uncomfortably. She leaned her head back, staring up into his face. “Hello, Kieran. I got here as soon as I could.”

Islen was here. His first friend. He felt Emery squeeze his hand and let go.

_“Stop following me!”_

_“Want to go to the stables?”_

_“Do you think we’ll stop having nightmares when we grow up?”_

_“You didn’t have anyone to talk to this whole time, but it’s different now.”_  
  
He brought his arms up, wrapping them around Islen’s shoulders. "It’s okay, I’m okay.” His voice croaked and he realised it was the first thing he’d said in…hours.

“Don’t be absurd! Of course you’re not!” She stepped back, and he was reminded that when she wasn’t hunched so, Islen was growing into a formidably tall woman. She knelt, riffling in the pack behind her and pulling out two oddly shaped items. “For you, Emmy.” She handed Emery the smaller of the two. “Oh, drat, it’s broken.”

“I’ve told you at least three times you need to properly pack delicates.” Kieran shook his head, running a hand over the small mirror and mending it. Islen gave him a sour look but said nothing. Emery examined the gems around the mirrors edge.

“It’s for short-range location.” Islen lifted a shoulder. “Supposedly.”

“Thank you.”  Emery smiled.

“And, Kieran, this is for you.” She shook out a bundle of red, lumpy fabric that looked to be a half-finished blanket with what he _thought_ was the Kirkwall crest in yellow.

“You’re still learning?” Emery’s smile was far more polite than whatever face Kieran knew he was making.

Islen stared at the fabric as though it had wronged her. “Aunt Orana is a patient woman. Anyway, I’m not quite finished so you’ll have to sit there and I’ll wrap up.”

Islen sat on the floor, picking up a pair of needles and staring at them with intense focus.

“You know,” Emery placed a hand on Islen’s shoulder after a full minute stand off. “If you want, I could–”

“Oh, Maker, could you?” Islen shoved the needles at her friend and Emery laughed, picking up what looked like spare fabric to Kieran but was likely ‘very central to the integrity of the blanket’ to a craftsman.

Islen moved a bit of the blanket so it covered Kieran’s lap. He ran a hand over it and noticed it was quite soft.

“Our parents are entertaining,” Islen said, pulling out a book and opening it on her leg. “You can sleep, if you’d like.”

“We’ll keep the monsters at bay.” Emery winked without looking up from her steady work.

He did sleep then, surrounded by the sound of clacking needles and the faint smell of lyrium that followed Islen wherever she went.


	2. 'I Love You' Helps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An alternate POV of a scene from the first chapter of Singing Stone, requested by kindervenom.

“Is Sarge going with Papa or coming with us?”

Hawke paused, sharp glove in one hand, soiled rag hanging loose from the other, and watched Islen toe the ground inside her paren’ts room almost nervously. She set the two items aside and stood with a grunt. She’d have to remember to bring some of Orana’s salve for the trip if she wanted her knees not to creak.

“I was going to let him stay with Aveline.” She rubbed the back of her neck. Why was it so hard to talk to a six year old? Her own _daughter_ , for fuck’s sake. “Did you…want him to come with us?”

“Well,” Islen bit her lip, rotating in place, “Wesley’s there and he likes looking after kids. And he’s pretty old. He probably doesn’t want to go anywhere.”

Hawke smiled, amazed the girl had thought of all that. “That’s very considerate, Islen.”

Islen lowered her head, stepping backwards out of the room.

“Islen,” she called after her and Islen turned on the spot, eyes wide. “I’m sorry if any of this is hard to understand or,” she swallowed, “I know you’re upset.”

Upset was an understatement. Her eyes were red from crying and lack of sleep.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Mama.” Islen said and even managed a little smile.

“Oh, good.” Hawke returned the smile, picking her glove back up from the floor. She knew the thought was silly, that her daughter would stay mad at her forever, that she _meant_ it when she called her stupid or terrible. Still, silly or not, the ‘I love you’s helped.


	3. An Absent Look or Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt requested by lemonsharks for the Hawke-Tethras household.

When Hawke woke it was with a prickling along her neck and arms that had her crawling across the bed to reach for her dagger.  
 _  
Safety first._  
  
She pulled on her robe and opened the door to the hall. She could hear Varric’s voice from inside Islen’s room and tucked the blade away. He always made rounds through the house, even with a giant war hound in the girl’s room (habit left her mind referring to it as ‘mother’s room’, regardless of how short it had been as such or how long she had been absent from it). Since Islen had finished teething she slept soundly through most nights, but if she cracked an eye open when Varric checked in her room…Maker help him.  
  
She watched them from the door as Varric read to her, desperately trying to stay awake longer than the child in his lap. _The Maker was not kind tonight._  
  
 Islen noticed her first. “Mama!”

Varric gave her a fond, syrupy look that she found herself on the receiving end of, most often, when he was half-asleep (they were occurring with alarming frequency, of late). “Couldn’t sleep either?”

“Apparently this is where all the fun is happening.” She stepped over a still-sleeping Sarge to join them.  
  
“Mama.” Islen waved her dragon at Hawke, slapping her free hand against the book on Varric’s knee.

Hawke bent over to lift her from his lap and was rewarded with a series of excited gurgles. “She’ll sleep well tomorrow.”  
  
“So will I.” Varric closed the book and rubbed a hand over his eyes.  
  
Hawke trailed the tips of her fingers across the top of his head, down through his hair. “A day in sounds perfect.”


	4. All Soul's Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gift for kindervenom that I wrote in the midst of my Stranger Things spree <3

Nothing beat an Antiva Satanalia, with its week long feasts and equally lasting cheer. And the descriptions of Summerday in Tevinter had been charming enough to convince even Islen’s patriotic progenitor to leave the (relative) safety of the Free Marches. But she was convinced that nowhere in Thedas did the month of Matrinalis the justice that Kirkwall did. Perhaps it was childhood nostalgia. Islen took in a great gulp of stale, salty air. 

She had, after all, missed Kirkwall a great deal.

She startled at the feel of a hand on her elbow and turned to stare at Emery without shaking the woman off.

“We’ll be here for All Soul’s Day,” Islen started without prompting, a habit formed from years of navigating her friend’s more quiet moments. “Think you’ll be able to stay awake for the parade?”

“A parade?” The creases at the edges of Emery’s eyes disappeared completely with the rise of her eyebrows, and Islen smiled. She sometimes forgot that, for all her outwardly serious appearance, this was the same excited girl who had followed her into Skyhold’s prisons, fought wolves, and on one very memorable occasion accidentally entered them into a contest for the elite chefs of Thedas because she felt her ‘ _family’s honor was called into question’.  
_

Islen knew Alistair kept every token and trophy of Emery’s, but she’s fairly certain that it was Aunt Derry who had framed their third prize ribbon that day.

“Kirkwall’s vendors offer food and games.” Islen explained, letting Emery fit her hand into the crook of her elbow before stepping closer to the ship’s railing. “They’ll rob you blind, naturally, but half the fun is seeing what you can steal back. How much you can fit beneath your costume.”

She opened her mouth to ask how Emery celebrated it at…and closed it with a snap. Because that was the other thing Islen sometimes forgot, with a guilt that tugged at her for far longer than her misstep warranted.

“We never stayed in town long enough for one,” Emery said, as though sensing her thoughts. She stared up at her, eyebrow raised. “Can we dress up?”

“Would you like to be a mouse?” Islen teased and Emery pushed her nose up looking more, to her mind, like a nug. “That isn’t a _no_.”

“Do you think Cole will find it in poor taste if we steal the linens to prance about as spirits?”

“No, but my uncle might.” Islen barked a laugh. They watched the waves for a few minutes, Emery drawing her attention to something breaking the surface a short distance out. “Think I could get away with going as a dwarf?”

Emery didn’t look away from the water (in fact, Islen reasoned she didn’t have time to blink) before answering in that somewhat perplexed tone she had when she was going to be _stubborn_. “You _are_  a dwarf, isana.”

Islen rolled her eyes, giving the hand at her elbow a soft pat. “Thank you, salroka.”

She saw the smattering of familiar buildings grow closer and thought of all that Emery had; a wonderful family, a _living_  family, and friends, which she was lucky enough to count herself among. She didn’t think, for a moment, Emery found her life lacking. But she couldn’t help to hold it beside her own childhood, almost extravagant by comparison, and think of what Emery and her family had missed while her mother and father were saving the world _again_ , and themselves.

Islen thought of herself: Islen Hawke, daughter of the Champion of Kirkwall, who had always had a city to call home. Islen Tethras, the Viscount’s daughter, _the spoiled_.

She tightened her grip on Emery’s hand and ignored the concerned look she got for it. Tonight they’d steal the linens, and Kieran would scold them, but be there when they got into trouble anyway. Emery never had a childhood home. She made her home in the people she cared about, and Islen was going to be as wonderful to Emery as Kirkwall had been to her.


End file.
